


Better

by waywardriot



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: M/M, just some boys being scrappy and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 21:38:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20089177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardriot/pseuds/waywardriot
Summary: When his other half isn’t looking, Ventus cranes his head up and quickly presses a peck to the scar, featherlight and fleeting. “There. Kissed it better,” he proclaims before he continues to draw his fingers over it as if nothing happened.This is something of a ritual they’ve conducted many times, but those simple words strike Vanitas more than action, and he spits out, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” before he can say something embarrassing in return.





	Better

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a super short drabble i wrote in 20 minutes while sitting on my bathroom floor so i hope it's not too much of a wreck!

A knot sits embedded in Vanitas’s chest, gnarled skin and tissues that have been ripped open over and over, existing as a mockery of Ventus’s perfect sunburst that his darkness has memorized. 

_This is what my heart looks like,_ he tells Ventus, _all messy and fucked up and scrapbooked together._

No matter how much Ventus objects, Vanitas won’t listen to anything but the ache inside, just as he always has; the only way Ventus can soothe the hurt, even a little, is by being the salve Vanitas never had. 

He lays on top of Vanitas, perfectly splayed out with a palm pressed flat to the scar. Just like Vanitas with his own, Ventus has this one memorized, knows all the dips and bumps and twists by heart. When his other half isn’t looking, he cranes his head up and quickly presses a peck to it, featherlight and fleeting. “There. Kissed it better,” he proclaims before he continues to draw his fingers over it as if nothing happened.

Those simple moments are always the ones that bowl Vanitas over, the ones that hit him like a metaphorical train and knock the wind—how _ironic_—out of his chest. Ventus is so goddamn cheesy that it’s (usually) annoying, but he does these things in such an earnest, pure way that Vanitas can’t deny that they help.

This is something of a ritual they’ve conducted many times, but those simple words strike Vanitas more than action, and he spits out, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” before he can say something embarrassing in return. 

“Hey! Do you _have_ to ruin the moment?” Ventus scowls, lightly scratching a single fingernail down his chest just to hear Vanitas hiss.

“It’s not a moment unless both of us are feeling it, idiot,” Vanitas scoffs as he smacks Ventus’s hand away from his chest. “Not my fault you say dumb shit.”

“Asshole!” Ventus says, teeth bared with a joke while he smacks Vanitas’s hand back. “Can’t you try to humor me?”

“Absolutely not,” Vanitas retorts, and the words are barely out of his mouth before he’s shoved off the bed. Ventus leaps at him with a shout, attempting to jab an elbow in his stomach; thus begins another ritual of theirs, as stupid and potentially disastrous as any other. 

Like always, Vanitas ends up on top, sitting firmly on Ventus’s thighs and pinning his shoulders down with curled hands. “I win, _Venty-Wenty_,” he nearly hisses—although he’s sporting a blooming bruise on his jaw to show just how successful he was. 

“Shut up. I let you win,” Ventus mutters, squirming underneath the hold; he’s got his own trophy, too, a bruise on his neck that could’ve come about one of two ways, neither of which he’d reveal. 

Vanitas sputters out a laugh and leans even closer to Ventus’s face. “Sure you did, brat.”

Of course, Ventus does as any other brat would do and blows a raspberry straight into Vanitas’s face, hitting the mark perfectly with saliva. When Vanitas balks and squawks, caught off guard, Ventus takes the opportunity and jumps him, finally finding himself triumphant and sitting atop his stomach like a king. 

“What were you saying, _Vani-Wani?_” he coos, and he presses a hand to Vanitas’s scar as a reminder of what the scuffle was over. 

“Nothing,” Vanitas says sullenly, turning his head away so he won’t have to see the look on his other half’s face when he notices the creeping red. 

Ventus grins widely at the blush and shows his little canines. “Thought so,” he trills. To make a point, he leans down and presses yet another kiss to the scar. “Better.”

“I seriously hate you.”

“I know, you big, stupid baby. Get over it.” 

But Vanitas only does when Ventus kisses his lips instead.


End file.
